"OH WHAT A NIGHT, LATE DECEMBER BACK IN SIXTY-THREE." - Frankie Valli (December, 1963)

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, there was something oddly nostalgic about the bar. Even after my entire life managed to fall apart in two weeks, Buck's was still standing. A staple of life on the eastside, like its own landmark, with some wanna-be cowboy behind the counter. The sickly stench of tobacco, beer, and sweat all mingled into one as I pushed the door open with my shoulder and sent a silent nod to the blank faces I passed. My backpack swung back and forth against my shoulder as I made my way across the floor, still invisible to Buck standing behind the bar and polishing some glasses.

By the time I made it within ear-shot of the bar and the man behind it, his customers finally began to recognize who I was. To most, I was just some little girl wandering into a place she didn't belong. To a few others, like Henry Carver, they recognized me as the same girl who'd been wiping down tables and washing their glasses since I was old enough to fool the young cops sent over here to "investigate." Tucked back in the corner of the bar by the door, the jukebox rang out loud as ever. The only difference was that of the artist. Patsy Cline sang out alongside her guitar and whatever else. "-Then I know what you'll do, you'll find yourself a new love and keep me a secret, too!"

Water sloshed around in the cup before Buck finally slammed it down and turned around to face me and his patrons. For a moment, his eyes glazed over me completely as I leaned against the bar with my arms crossed and hair fastened back in a ponytail.

I could only imagine how much I'd changed since the last time I'd stepped in here, but Buck remained as timeless as the honky-tonk music he stuck on repeat.

"Now what in God's name are you doin' here, Marley?"

"Makin' sure you haven't replaced me," I fire back. He's got his arms crossed over his chest in a sorry attempt to look tuff. The grin pulling at his lips - and the fact that his wrists are just as boney as mine - don't help his case much. He looks around the bar again, but no one seems to care. They're all too busy drowning their worries and burning holes in their pockets to notice their barkeep chatting away with some little girl. The counter squeals and creaks as he leans across it, close enough that I can smell his cologne and make note of the faded freckles dotting his nose. "An' who'd I be replacin' you with, huh? Dally?"

Yeah, right. Dally won't even wipe down the windows in this joint for a buck. Pun not intended.

Still, I roll my eyes cooly and push my nails into my palms as I bite back a smile of my own. "Well, Lord knows children are the only employees your cheap ass can afford."

I was thirteen when I walked in here for the first time without Dally leading the way. I already knew a little bit about the infamous Buck Merril, saw him around rodeos a couple times, Daddy even volunteered to help his old man fix the roof. But I was thirteen, Sodapop got real sick, and Momma was too far gone in her own mind to care. But I walked in here two years ago, nearly choking on the smoke, and asked for a job. No more than fifty cents an hour, I told him. I'd wash dishes and tables, sweep and scrub, I'd even clean the windows or his car if need be. I had barely finished my sentence before he pushed a sopping wet rag and glass into my hand and ushered me into place behind the bar, but the rest was history.

Maybe he was just afraid of what my brother would do if anything happened to me on his watch, but Buck had always kept a close eye on me. Whether it was here, or even driving me home after work, when I was still weighed down with textbooks, the same ones his eyes were focused on now. "You going to school?"

After two weeks of going MIA, social services would start getting suspicious if we got any more phone calls about one of us skipping class. Sodapop and Ponyboy liked it no better than I did, but having the gang beside us made it a bit more bearable. It wasn't so much the work that was difficult - even if I had to remind myself I couldn't go asking Daddy for help with it anymore - but rather the constant comments flowing from Socs' lips now that Darry wasn't walking the halls with us.

"Yeah, don't wanna fall too behind," I say plainly. "Just thought I'd swing by on my way home. Sorry I've been gone for so long."

Sure, Buck was a nice guy an' all, but sympathy was not his strong suit. Scoffing, he turns away from me and turns his attention back to the glasses lined up beside the sink. "You ain't got nothing to apologize for, ya hear? Now git outta here, a girl like you's gotta have better things to do on a Friday than bumming around with me."

So I take that as my cue to leave and readjust my bag on my shoulder as I wrestle my homework back into my arms. "Thanks for this, Buck, means a lot."

"It's gonna mean more 'round Christmas time," he calls as I reach for the doorknob, "groceries ain't cheap this time of year."

I should know, he's been helping me pay for them for the last two years now.

"C'mon man, the whole team is gonna be there! You'll stick out like a sore thumb if you're the only one too chicken to show!"

I already knew who the voice belonged to long before I stepped inside, but it still came as a shock to see Paul Holden standing in my living room, talking to Darry. He never said outright that he was embarrassed by us - by the house, but after being friends with the Socs on the football team for the last three years, this was the first time I'd seen Paul within ten feet of our house. He looked a lot like my brother, Paul, I mean. They had the same tall and proud stature, short clean hair and were around six feet tall. From what I could see, the only difference was with their clothes, but Paul was also paler and had blonde hair, rather than brown.

The door slammed shut and rattled in its frame when I stepped inside the house. That's when I noticed the final difference. Paul's eyes were a nice bright blue and widened in surprise when he noticed me standing behind the couch. I felt like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in place as Paul and Darry seemed to have their own silent conversation. Finally, after ten agonizing seconds had finally passed, Paul made his way over to me in large, thundering steps. "Long time no see, Miss Marley," he says cheerfully. Behind him and directly in my line of sight, I can see Darry biting down on his lip the second my nickname passes his lips. Sure, it was just a nickname, but it was Daddy's nickname for me.

But I push back the feeling of my insides twisting and smile up at him the best I can. "Howdy, Paul. How're you?" Before I had the chance to move out of his reach, Paul tossed a heavy hand over my shoulder and pulled me against him. He was smiling across the room to Darry as he wiped a hand down his face. "I'm doing alright," Paul said with a laugh, "just tryna convince your brother to be a team player."

I couldn't care less about what Darry and Paul had been discussing before I walked in. Now, all I wanted to do, was get out of his grasp and head to my room before either of them could find a way to drag me back into whatever this was. "You've been cooped up in this house for the last two weeks, man. Don't you think you need a little change of scenery?"

Darry scoffs loudly, a ghost of a teasing smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah, Paul, goin' from my house to the school gym sounds fantastic," he spits sarcastically. "Besides, I ain't about to leave Marley home alone for the night."

"Then let's bring her with us!" Darry rolls his eyes as Paul pulls me in closer still and my grip on my backpack begins to fail. "Come on, Dar, she's fifteen, not five. Go ahead and call Donna an' tell her to come over. The girls can get ready together, and I can drive us to the dance at eight. You can take Donna and I can take Marley. It's foolproof, man."

The dance was all anyone had been talking about for the last week. Christmas was only a week and a half away, so this was the school's way of celebrating early. The only downside, however, was that it was a seniors-only event. I guess Paul's way of bringing me along would only work if I was someone's date. And by the unfortunate process of elimination, that date would have to be him.

"You wanna go to your first high school dance tonight?" Darry asked me.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to say no so badly, but I couldn't bring myself to force the word over my tongue. Darry wasn't even eighteen yet and had already thrown his life aside for us. For me. What Paul said was true. He'd been stuck inside the house for the past two weeks, combing through our parents' files and trying to show the state he was a capable guardian. This was his one last chance for a little bit of normalcy in his life, and I couldn't bring myself to take it from him. "Sure, why not?"

My nod of confirmation was all Paul needed before he finally released me and headed towards our telephone hanging on the wall in the kitchen. "That settles it," he called, "I'll tell Donna to get on over here." As he talked into the telephone, I dropped my body - as well as my bag and books - onto the couch moments before Darry slumped down next to me. "You don't wanna go to this dance, do you?" A small smile pulls at his lips once he hears Paul answer his girlfriend's questions through the phone. "Well, it's too late now. Someone's gotta keep the guys off you." Usually, I woulda just laughed and told him to shut up, but that was before he pushed some of my hair aside and eyed the scar forming just to the right of my chin. When Soda, Pony, and I came home that day, I thought the windows would shatter with how loud he was yelling.

Sure, he was pissed Soda got in a fight, he was furious Andy decided to drag me into it, but the idea of us walking home with the Shepards seemed to piss him off a lot more.

"Where's the rest of the hoodlums?" I ask. Darry dropped his hand from my face and leaned back further into the couch before pulling one arm around me. My head fell against his shoulder comfortably, like all the times we used to watch movies when we were young. "Swindled me outta some quarters and took off for the Drive-In."

"They know their curfew?"

"Ten o'clock, on the dot," Darry hums. "Why don't you head to your room, yeah? Donna'll be here any minute now."

I take that as my invitation to leave and gather my things. "You look tired," I tell my brother as I swing my backpack onto my shoulder. Darry scoffs loudly in response and pushes himself off the couch. "Don't worry 'bout me, 'kay? It's my job to worry 'about you."

Truth is, I'm always gonna worry about him - about all of them. It was part of the job description.

For the most part, my first high school dance hadn't been that bad. Just as Darry said, Donna showed up about ten minutes after Paul called. We spent the last hour or so digging through my closet and tryna find something good enough for me to wear. Turns out, it was a lot more difficult than it looked. I guess that's just because I've never really been to a dance. We got into the gym without a hitch. All Paul, Donna, and Darry had to do was flash their library card, and no one seemed to notice me, squashed in the middle of all of them. The most surprising fact of all was how none of the Socs seemed to notice me, a greaser walking alongside them. It was decorated pretty nice - the gym, I mean. WIth balloons and streamers hanging from all angles, even a live band sang out from the stage we used for assemblies. They switched between Christmas carols and The Beatles for most of the night.

It was pretty fun for the first hour or so. For a while, I was able to forget about everything for a while and dance around in a circle with my brother. Seeing him happy with a girl he cared about was refreshing too, and arguably, my favourite part of the evening. With her hair curled to perfection, a long and flowing skirt the same colour as a fresh apple, she and Darry resembled some high school cliche you'd read about more than actual people. Donna was even nice enough to invite me over to the crowd of girls tucked in the corner when my brother and Paul disappeared to talk with some more of their friends, but I didn't want to push my luck. So now, I stood patiently by the wall across from the stage with a cup of punch in my fist.

Next to the hum of the guitar of the band and the excited whispers of the people around me, it was enough to drown out my own thoughts. The people all blended into anonymous faces thanks to the dark, but I didn't mind. After everything that happened. it was nice to exist without any whispers or judgmental eyes following you. But, as it turns out, I have a habit of speaking too soon. "You shouldn't be here, Marley."

I jerked as soon as their hand landed on my shoulder, managing to spill my drink not only on the stranger, but me as well. A sting of muffle curses past his lips while I stood there, like an idiot, apologizing for a mile a minute. "-really, it was an accident. Christ- I am so sorry, I can go grab some napkins-"

Way to go, Marley. You made it a whole forty-five minutes without screwing up, and now you're gonna get kicked out because you aren't supposed to be here. I was just about to turn and head to the table where I'd gotten my drink in the first place when the stranger's hand landed on my shoulder for a second time. "Relax, will you? I'm just messing with you, Curtis. This jacket's been through a lot worse than some fruit punch-"

Maybe my eyes were finally getting used to the dark, or maybe he was just standing too close, but I recognized the "stranger" in front of me. And by God, was I mad about it.

"Are you serious, Tim?" I scolded, "what are you even doing here?" Answering my question seemed to be the least of his concerns as he looked around the gym lazily, his hand still resting on my shoulder. "We should move," I mutter, "the punch is making my feet stick to the floor."

"Good idea." Then, without any warning what so ever his grip on my shoulder tightened as he pulled me towards the back door, the one we used as an emergency exit to the gym. Once again, my voice was little more than background noise to the arrogant. greasy, asshole I ended up familiarizing myself with. Under the cover of darkness, loud bass, and the kids around us smoking their parents' fancy cigars, no one noticed Tim as he pushed the door open, and me in front of him.

The cold night air made me shiver, and the nice red stain forming in the middle of my white blouse wasn't helping much, either. Less than five feet away. Tim leaned against the door cooly, lighting the cigarette he held between his teeth. "You gonna tell me what that was all about now?" He just rolls his eyes at me, seeming more infatuated with the tiny yellow flame dancing from his fingertips. "Don't get your panties in a knot, Marley. Just couldn't hear you in there, shitty music was too loud."

The lighter snaps shut as a thin tendril of smoke rises into the air, leaving us behind. I have to strain a little - to make out his figure against the wall - but Tim looks the same as he does every day. Dirty old jeans, and his leather jacket over a grey t-shirt? Maybe it was black, I really can't tell, but now it has a matching stain in the middle of his chest. His hair's greased back as usual, but it doesn't hide the few strands of wild curls framing his face. "What're you even doin' here, Tim? You barely come to school on the days you have to."

Small orange ashes illuminate the ground as they fall towards the concrete. For a minute, I watch them more closely than the greaser in front of me. "Same as you, I guess. Lookin' for a way to kill the time."

"Last I checked, you ain't supposed to be here," I say skeptically. "The dance is for seniors only."

Another puff of smoke, and another roll of the eyes. "Well last I checked, you're a sophomore, just like me, babe."

My arms cross over my chest automatically as the door across from me creaks open and a few Socs stumble out. They stink of cheap weed, the burning smell clings to their clothes and hair as they try to mask it with even worse perfume and cologne. But, they move right past us as if we were nothing more than shadows stuck to the walls. It isn't until the familiar smell of cigarette smoke hits me that I notice Tim isn't across from me anymore, but beside me. "Jesus Christ," I curse, "ever heard of personal space?"

"You didn't have a problem with it three seconds ago."

"Because I didn't know you were there, three seconds ago!"

I can hear him chuckle and it's all I can do not to sock him in the mouth. I guess it ain't that bad, standing next to each other an' all. I can't even really say anything about it, not after I fell apart and actually cried in front of him two weeks ago. "You cold or somethin'?" Tim asks after a minute of silence. It's all I can do not to laugh as I stand there, my chest and sleeves coated red and slowly weaving down to my skirt. "KInda, but bein' out here's better than listening to The Beatles again."

"Well shit, Marley, guess you ain't as bad as I thought you were."

Comin from a guy like Tim, those words were high praise. And sure, maybe I felt my face get a little hot when he leaned against his shoulder and faced me, but I wasn't about to give in that easy. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here."

He turned his face to the dark night sky and exhaled again, the thick smoke turned the dull Oklahoma stars hazy for a minute before it finally vanished. "What's got you so worked up, huh? Why can't I just talk to you?" That's when he chuckles and I can feel my blood freeze. "Don't tell me you're scared of me or something?"

I was stuck behind my gym, during a dance I wasn't supposed to be at, with one of the most feared greasers in Tulsa inches from my face. I wasn't scared, I was terrified. Terrified, thinking about what he wanted with me - from me, more rather - terrified of what Darry would say if he went looking for me and I wasn't where he'd left me. Terrified of what Darry would do if he caught me here with Tim. But sometimes, a few seconds of bravery is all one needs. I tilt my head to the right so I can see him better, though his face is still distorted by the thin layer of smoke escaping past his chapped lips. "I ain't scared of you, Shepard, but not a lotta respectable things happen behind the gym."

I'm half expecting the next cloud of smoke to hit my face, but it never does. Instead, Tim turns his face to the vast, dark sky again, and laughs. "That's bold, Curtis, even for you. Syl finally fill you in on her dirty little love affair with Dally?"

I didn't need to hear anything from Sylvia - especially when the topic was Dally.How's it go again, ignorance is bliss? I can feel the familiar heat rising up my neck and burning through my cheeks as I silently thank whatever God did to make it too dark to notice. Sure, smoke, booze, and a few other scents I can't name cling to the air, but I don't necessarily mind it. Not when I standing out here, under the stars I used to watch for hours, with the anxiety I had felt all week slowly fading with every look I stole of the boy beside me. "What's with calling me Curtis again?" I ask after a few seconds of silence. "Took you long enough to call me Marley."

"What's with you callin' me Shepard, then? I didn't have a problem with you callin' me Tim."

Sure, I've known him since the second grade, but there was something far too personal about calling him Tim. Liking crossing an invisible boundary, the kind that separated us from acquaintances to something else. I barely knew the guy, definitely not well enough to consider myself anything other than just a girl he happened to know the name of, but I couldn't get it out of my mind as we stood there together. I was never scared of Tim Shepard. I wasn't scared of him then, and I doubt there's anything he could do that could change my mind, but I was scared because I didn't mind the way my name rolled over his tongue so easily. As if the boundary between acquaintances and something more had already been crossed.

And in its own way, I guess it had been.

"Thanks for everything you've been doing the last few days," I start awkwardly. I drop my gaze to the cracked cement before I can stop myself, and instead focus on the cold, rough texture of the brick wall against my fingertips. I was kinda like Ponyboy that way, every time I really thought about what I wanted to say, the words ended up all jumbled and messy. "'Specially on Monday, y'know, when the cops showed up? I-I was real freaked out about everything and didn't even get a chance to say-"

"Stop talkin' for a sec."

"And with everything Curly's been doin' for Ponyboy- I've been kinda worried 'bout him since the accident. He rarely comes outta his room, it's so hard to get him to eat anything more than breakfast, but he says Curly's been keepin' an eye on him. We- I really appreciate it-"

And in an instant, a calloused hand is pushed against my mouth before I even have the sense to push away. The blood and adrenaline feel like hellfire burning beneath my skin as I stand there, completely immobilized with fear and something else I couldn't name. But one fact is clear - two, actually - I was obviously lying when I said there was nothing Tim could do to make me afraid of him, and he was standing muchcloser than he'd been a second ago. As it turns out, his shirt was grey, not black. He wasn't even that much taller than me, three inches at the most, but I still couldn't help but feel small as he craned his neck to the side, blue eyes narrowed as he listened intently. They flicker back to me in an instant, and I hate that one look is all it takes for my hands to freeze before they can lock around his wrist. "I'm gonna move my hand, and you ain't gonna say anything, got it?"

I'd say I glared at him - maybe even bit him, but I know all I did was stare and try not to scream. Tim sighs, his breath and smoke linger in the air for a second as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't look at me like that," he whispers seriously, "I wasn't tryna freak you out. Just stay quiet, yeah?" I nod stiffly, my eyes dangerously close to fading out of focus as I realize I had the great idea to hold my breath. Y'know, like an idiot.

My heart is still racing a mile a minute when Tim finally pulls away, something dangerously close to sympathy painted in his eyes. I think the worst part of it all, is how his fingertip catches on the fresh scar on my chin. He turns away just as quickly as he had before, now leaning close to the part of the wall that turned the corner. I manage to calm my thundering heart - and let me tell you, it was a struggle - and strain my ears.

"Listen up, man, I don't know what kinda problem you got with us, but it's about time you let it go. We came here for a good time, and it would be a real fuckin' shame to let some hood ruin our fun. Ain't that right, boys?"

There are mumbles of agreement, all coming from voices I can't recognize. But the guys just round the corner are Socs, alright, I don't know anyone who could weaponize the name hood like that can. Tim's still standing pretty close - obviously not that close, but enough that I can see his teeth slowly sink into the torn flesh on his bottom lip. "-I mean, c'mon, what are you gonna do? There's one of you and five of us. You ain't gonna win this fight, grease."

Greasers had a tendency to watch out for each other, especially against a common enemy. But I knew just as well as Tim did - even with the switchblade in his pocket - his chances of winning this fight were slim to none. I still listen closely, possibly hoping for anything I could find out about the muffled voices only feet away. In the ned, I ended up knowing more than I wanted to.

"You can win the fight, but you ain't gonna win the war. An' until you stuck-up, spoon-fed lunatics realize you're in over your head, you're gonna be paying for it one way or another."

I recognized that voice, and I wasn't happy about it at all. From the looks of it, Tim wasn't pleased either.

"How're your siblings doin', Curtis?" Andy continues tauntingly. "Y'know, after your brother let Marley take all the hits for him."

"Go back inside," Tim whispers suddenly. I can see his lips move, I can even see his eyes dart around in the darkness as he looks at me, but I can't bring myself to move. Without warning, his hands land on my shoulders as he risks another glance back to the corner. "I'm serious, Marley, this ain't gonna end well and I don't need you bein' here when the fight starts-"

But the fight's already started, and Andy's lost. Insults and punches are thrown around just out of sight. Paul's voice rings out as the most identifiable, though I can't really make out what he's saying. When the hollering and sudden groans of pain get louder, Tim's hand finally slips from my shoulder and into the pocket of his jacket - only to wrap around the handle of his blade. "Fuck, fine. If you ain't gonna leave, just make sure you stay behind me, alright? I don't need Darry coming for my throat next-"

A body is thrown against the cement at our feet as a group of shadows round the corner. His face is bruised and bloody, so much so I almost don't recognize him. Andy rolls onto his hands and knees quickly, blood and spit leaking from his mouth, nose, and the countless cuts the Socs have given him. His eyes glaze over Tim automatically as they find their way to me. "Well," he calls out, "guess I won't need to go lookin' for her after all." He leans most of his weight against the wall as he struggles to his feet, staggering towards us as he does so. Poisonous insults and bitter words are exchanged between him and the only thing separating us. Tim.

And that's when Darry follows. Knuckles and the collar of his letterman jacket stained with some criminal's blood, his eyes burning with a fury I didn't know he ever had. I wish I could say it faded when he saw me, but I was like throwing gasoline onto a lit match. I guess the greaser standing in front of me with a knife didn't help the image. Darry stalks forward with all the grace and tranquillity of a raging bull, veins I didn't even know a person had danced under his skin. "Get the fuck away from her, Tim, I ain't messin' around-"

"I didn't do anything, man! We were just talkin'-" Tim tries to explain, but Darry shoves him aside before he can finish. My brother's hand wraps around my wrist like a viper ready to strike the second the path is cleared and it takes all I have in me not to cry out. He didn't mean to, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. "Darry- really, we weren't doin' anything! Just leave him al-" It's Paul who reaches for me next, his hands just as rough and calloused. I couldn't even tell you what was going through my mind as he led me towards the parking lot and his car, at one point his jacket ended up tossed over my shoulders.

"Stay here doll, I gotta get Donna before we leave."

I sink into the back seat of a red mustang, some Soc's jacket wrapped around my shoulders and a blinding headache as more figures crowd into the parking lot. Their voices and faces all turn into one unidentifiable blob, but that doesn't stop one greaser's voice from ringing out into the night like a gunshot.

"You can win the battle, but you ain't gonna win the war. Not without a couple casualties."